Son Goku and Master Roshi moved at the same time.
Master Roshi's moves were simple and solid. There were no wasted motions or flashy combinations. Every punch and kick was one of the most basic techniques—a straight punch, a side kick, a sweep, a push.
However, in his hands, these basic techniques became flawless. He wasn't particularly fast, and the audience could clearly see every move the old man made. Yet every time, he blocked Son Goku's attack at just the right moment, while slipping into the blind spots in his defense.
Son Goku went all out under ten times gravity, his fists wrapped in fierce gusts of wind. His speed and strength far surpassed what anyone his age should have been capable of.
His straight punch shot out like a cannonball. Master Roshi leaned slightly to the side, and the fist skimmed past the tip of his nose. Son Goku swept low across the ground, but the old man lightly tapped the ground with his toes and leaped over the rush of air. Yet after several rounds of relentless attacks without gaining the slightest advantage, Son Goku felt as though he were punching a clump of willow fluff—his attacks felt soft and insubstantial, nothing like the solid impact he was used to.
He's incredible. It's not speed or strength—it's anticipation. He knows half a second in advance what move I'm going to use, what angle I'll attack from, and how much force I'll put into it.
Is this the God of Martial Arts? Is this what a human being looks like after taking martial arts to the utmost level?
Son Goku marveled inwardly, and at the same time felt an irrepressible excitement rising from deep within. Saiyan blood roared through his veins—not with anger, but with yearning. Yearning for a stronger opponent, to break through his limits, to reach an even higher plane.
If he kept trading blows with Master Roshi at his current strength, he wouldn't even come close to brushing his clothes by tomorrow.
He had to change his strategy. He had to disrupt Master Roshi's anticipation. He had to do something beyond the old man's expectations.
"Hah!!!"
Son Goku roared, and the restrictions on his weighted clothing disengaged. He unleashed his full strength, the ki inside him surging like a wild horse that had broken free.
White flames of ki rose from every inch of his skin, distorting the air with waves of heat. The bluestone slabs beneath his feet couldn't withstand the sudden pressure. Web-like cracks spread outward from where he stood, while the shock wave swept up chunks of stone and hurled them spinning toward the edge of the ring. They clattered against the front-row barriers.
Behind his sunglasses, Master Roshi's old eyes, surrounded by wrinkles, finally stirred.
This kid—he still has more?!
No. It's not just that he had more in reserve. I'd already calculated that his training routine was as intense as it could get—from four in the morning until late at night, under ten times gravity, going through the entire Turtle School regimen. There shouldn't have been anything left to hide. And yet—his strength is still growing. Right in front of my eyes.
"Master Jackie Chun—take this!!!"
Son Goku's voice was hoarse with excitement. He pushed off the ground—the ring shuddered, and a deep crater was left where he'd stood—as he shot toward Master Roshi like a cannonball! His right fist clenched, all his strength, all his will, and all the sweat and yearning of the past eight months gathered into that one punch.
At that moment, Son Goku suddenly understood how the Son Goku in the original story had felt. It wasn't about winning. It was about finding out—finding out how far he'd come, and how many steps still separated him from the true pinnacle.
Master Roshi was the perfect person to help him measure that distance.
"Good!!!"
Master Roshi took a deep breath, and his expression changed completely. The comical old man who peeped at girls and slept in every day was gone. In his place stood a man with unfathomable eyes and a presence that seemed to outweigh the entire ring.
He didn't choose to deflect the force. He didn't choose to dodge. He chose to take the hit head-on.
His knees bent slightly, his arms crossed, and he lowered himself a few inches. It was the most basic defensive stance of the Turtle School—but at the same time, he gathered all his ki into his arms. The ki was so dense that the fabric of his sleeves split in two places.
It wasn't that he couldn't dodge. He just didn't want to.
If the boy wanted to test his strength, then as his master, he should take it head-on and show him.
"BAM—!!!"
The moment fist met forearms, the sound was far too loud to be a mere clash of fists. It was more like two meteorites colliding in midair, or a massive hammer slamming into a thousand-pound anvil.
A visible shock wave exploded from the point of impact, spreading horizontally like a transparent bomb detonating across the ring.
It swept over the front rows, distorting the spectators' faces. Snacks flew from people's hands; some screamed as they clutched their hats in place. Three of the ring's colorful flags were ripped off at the base, and their broken poles spun through the air and flew out of the arena, embedding themselves in the distant grass.
Dust and smoke billowed up, engulfing the entire ring.
The audience instinctively held their breath. The stadium, packed with thousands of people, fell silent save for the wind.
The dust slowly cleared.
Jackie Chun was down on one knee at the edge of the ring. His arms were still crossed in a defensive stance, but they trembled violently—not from fear, but from the instinctive reaction of muscles pushed beyond their limits. His sunglasses had shattered, the pieces scattered at his feet. His wide, bloodshot eyes were exposed, filled with shock and relief, along with unmistakable admiration.
His feet were already on the white boundary line at the edge of the ring. The edges of his soles lined up perfectly with it; even the referee might not have been able to tell at a glance whether he was in or out.
"Such... such incredible strength. Eight months ago, you couldn't even push me with one hand. Now..."
He slowly stood up, his arms still trembling. Then he did something no one in the stadium expected.
He smiled. It was a warm, open smile, full of pride in his opponent.
Son Goku stood before him, his small body heaving slightly. Sweat ran down his face and dripped onto the cracked bluestone slabs.
A radiant smile spread across his face too—the irrepressible, heartfelt smile of someone who had given everything he had.
Jackie Chun held out his hand. It wasn't a stance to resume the fight, but a conciliatory gesture, his palm facing outward.
"Kid—that last attack surpassed even the strength I had in my prime. That boundary was one I'd set for myself. But to you, it means nothing. And that's precisely why you need to remember every word I'm about to say."
He took a deep breath, then spoke in a voice that rang like a bell:
"Winning isn't the most important thing. Before martial arts, a single victory or defeat is as light as a feather. A true strongman always keeps his eyes on the next battle."
He paused and removed his shattered sunglasses, revealing that he was, in fact, Master Roshi.
"You're the disciple that little brat Gohan entrusted to me, and of all my students, you're the one who's improved the fastest. I doubt I'll ever meet anyone who improves faster than you. So now, as your master, I have only one thing to say to you—"
He raised his head. The brilliant midday sunlight over Papaya Island was reflected in his old eyes, no longer hidden behind sunglasses.
"Well done. Go on—go farther. Become stronger. Strong enough that one day, the words 'Turtle School' will be known throughout the universe."
The old man's lips curved into a smile. Then he looked down at his shoes, which were resting right on the white line, and waved to the referee. "Don't just stand there. Call it."
The referee came to his senses as if waking from a dream. He sucked in a deep breath, blew his whistle with all his strength, then practically shrieked into the microphone—
"Jackie Chun is out of bounds!! Son Goku wins!!!"
"The champion of the 21st World Martial Arts Tournament is—Son! Go! Ku!!!"
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